"You're welcome," George answered graciously. And then added. "Now tell me I look pretty and my arse looks fantastic in these jeans," he ordered, ruining the moment of gracious benevolence.
"Bottles are tricky. You have to tell them you love them first, before they give it up." which didn't make sense, but George was rarely concerned with sense making anyway.
He did pop the bottle open, taking a swig as payment before offering it back. He eyed the red patch. "You're not all rashed and contagious with something, are you?" He doubted it but one never knew, really.
He did reach out and swat at Roger's hand as he scratched. "Mum always said that makes it worse." Though slapping to stop was satisfying, even if he hadn't had a legitimate reason. George snorted. "I know what a bloody telly is. We have one. It just doesn't work because it imploded. What kind of a name is Spleen?"